


Bleed

by ChloShow



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: M/M, Season/Series 01, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 09:35:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8139212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChloShow/pseuds/ChloShow
Summary: Will Tyrell bleed for Elliot?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [entanglement](https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglement/gifts).



He wiped the butter from his hands as he retrieved the gun from the popcorn machine. Currently, Tyrell sat entranced by the monitors, no doubt pants growing a little tighter by the second. Tyrell Wellick had all the makings of a perfect disciple, and he could wax all day about the width and breadth of his loyalty but his words meant bull _shit_ without a…display of devotion. That’s what he’d call it.

“Elliot,” he turned in his chair, repeating Elliot’s name as if it were the sweetest word he knew. The sweetness died in his throat, turning yellow, acrid. “Elliot, what are you doing?”

“Stand up.”

Tyrell’s eyes darted between him and the gun, desperately searching for a read on the situation. “I don’t understand. I thought we were on the same page.”

Mr. Robot rolled that last phrase around in his mouth before responding. Tyrell probably coached himself on sounding as American as possible, repeating idioms until they flowed naturally as blood from a stone. “You said we were gods.”

Color touched the apples of his cheeks as he smiled a pleading smile, “Yes, I did.”

“Yet gods…don’t exist on their own. They need followers. Believers,” he flicked the safety off, “Do you believe, Tyrell?”

“Tell me what to believe.”

The gun felt sturdy in his hand, eager. Not yet, not yet.

“Oh, I will. But first. Gods require sacrifice. In Abrahamic religions at least, this sacrifice is blood,” one step-two steps-three steps closer to Tyrell, and he craned his neck to find his reflection in the other man’s eyes, pressing the muzzle firmly into his gut, “Will you bleed for me, Tyrell?”

“I want to…”

“But?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed, swallowing dryly. “How do I know that I’ll survive?”

“You don’t.” Mr. Robot considered Tyrell’s fear. Completely understandable. He just needed a push. He took Tyrell’s bottom lip in between his teeth and sucked, finishing before Tyrell could react. A few seconds of shock preceded a curt, sure nod.

“I’ll bleed for you.”

“Good,” he breathed, “But first, promise me, if anyone comes between us and this future we’ve made— _anyone_ —promise me, you’ll stop them.”

“I promise.”

He nodded, turning on his heel and putting 10 paces between him and his target.

When the bullet found its home, Mr. Robot could’ve mistaken Tyrell’s cries of pain for ecstasy.


End file.
